Among the Icy Spires of the Arctic
by Adryanna
Summary: So, what happened to Sym 15 years after the accident at Symme's hole? Well, here's what I think would be happening. This is a descriptive piece about Sym's perspective. Includes emotions from awe to angst I write descriptively well, so Please R&R! Oneshot


15 years have passed since the Symme's hole accident. Whether Victor is dead, or alive, _I don't care_. I'm just glad to be back where I belong. Antarctica.

The exhilarating cold fills my lungs, its fresh, chilled oxygen giving me a dull, constant lung-freeze. The towering glaciers stand tall, piercing the pearly grey sky with its icy spires. The frozen castles lead up and up, until I have to crane my neck in order to see the dizzying pinnacles of spear headed, twisted icicles. The hulking bergs reflect ice on ice, creating a clear, pure, diamond blue. The white, frosty landscape blurred with the sky, leaving a blurry and indefinite horizon line. The dazzling expanse of bleached ice stretched out as far as the eye could see, and beyond, until it collided with an inky blue ocean. It was a beautiful, wild desert wilderness with icy dunes rather than of hot, dry sand.

Though there were signs of life, however sparse, here, it was silent. Dead. The blinding whiteness created a sort of dark. A white darkness. I walked further away from the McMurdo base. The vast expanse of the Ross Ice Shelf spread out in front of me. The half frozen sea was my kingdom for the day. I picked my way across using my handy-dandy crampons, and a stick for thickness checks. I made my way along the coast, straying across seals, penguins, and other Antarctic life that has endeared me for so long.

After a long trek along the shore, I made my way inland. Here, it was much the same as before: White, ice, glaciers, you get the picture. And then, something caught my eye. I ran towards it. It was the burned body of an ice vehicle. Recognition hit me like a high-speed train does to a barrier. It would split in two, splintered, windblown peices. Like I feel now. 15 years ago. Sigurd. _Uncle Victor_. I ran up the slope, and, marking my way, I sped down as fast as you could on an icy, Antarctic slope. For how long I ran, I don't know. By the time I can to an abrupt halt, I knew _exactly _where I was. Devil's Ballroom. I had seen it on maps, in books, and even in a few pictures. Only a few have made it out alive, and none have brought back coordinates. Except one. Two, actually. Sigurd and I.

_Didn't fancy we'd ever be back _here.

"Well, Titus, we are".

I punched in numbers and letters into my GPS. Right. Devil's Ballroom it was. I looked around me. It was downright creepy. I silently skied across the vast, white plain and peered down the same ice chimney Uncle Victor had went down. As if I wasn't cold to begin with, doing so chilled me to the bone.

"_UUUNCLLLE VIIICCCTTTOOORRR!" _I called down the icy flue. I couldn't help it. The sound reverberated across the sweeping tundra of grief and ice. The disturbance seemed unnatural and it merely rattled my already-quaking self. A lonely echo came back across the ice-capped savanna, making an already hopeless cry unbearable. I sat down and leaned my head against a neighboring ice chimney.

I loved this place, yet I hated it. Antarctica was all I had; yet, it had taken away all that had mattered to me. The glaciated castles, with their fantastically dreamlike towers, spires and summits held me spellbound. The preserved beauty of the foreign landscape mystified and intrigued me. But it also brought pain and loss into my heart, encircled it in a layer of slick, hard-to-get-rid-of ice.

The Antarctic is a wonderful, and dreadful place. I _choose_ to be here. I _love _to be here. And yet, I feel this sensation is tugged at by the hands of doubt, who ruin my once-perfect perception of this polar place. I have learned to love, through Sigurd, Victor, and Antarctica. I have learned to hate through them as well. But now, among the glaciers that mean so much to me, I will love the Antarctic once more. I must. I will.


End file.
